Best Undimmed Poems
The vision calls me once again against this restless night
in brilliant strata gems, in timeless dreams of light.
I close my ancient eyes, and there, so long ago
I see the walls that rose above the eventide.
For it was there where we scaled the lofty cliffs
and breached the gates of a grand estate
with rows of high arched windows, fine
and endless rooms of decadence in decline.
His youth, his hair, flowed e’er alive, my heart revived
I followed in his footsteps as we ran among the heights.
Hidden memories we explored, abandoned dusty rooms
we fell into each other’s arms, dancing to a distant tune.
Under the vast eternal sun, my heart was knit
in rapt kinship, time melted in his presence
our days divine, indelible design
were carved for us and us alone.
In random room we laid upon a wooden floor
his strong limbs, my budding breasts
together we explored youth’s sparks
as thick as honey, blossoming to a fragrance.
No other bliss could be like this, I now know
with mirrors in my mind of sunsets’ glow
undimmed by time, I’ll ne’er forget...
...I open ancient eyes with honey on my lips.
Written on 1/20/2020
Black and White – 3-18-24
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Black and White
Black and white come in focus -
Absent of prime –
A slice of life exposed through the lens,
A flash-dance of story, a masquerade ball.
No sunrise of sepia - clouds absent of platinum,
Lavender drained from lilacs, sky robbed of blue,
Red-orange stolen from sunsets.
Spindrift frozen like frost,
Candlelight shines undimmed and eternal,
Stark either or – life or not -
In shadows, snow or mountaintops,
Ghosts on boughs of ebony wear gossamer.
Wrinkles and lines banished from smiles of youth
While the lens loves some visages
As eyes without color look back from albums.
Positive to negative. Negative to positive.
Photoplay in wedding smiles or tears of a clown
Moments of the soul held in tenderness
Protected in scrapbooks of black and white.
Thou art to me the fairest crimson rose,
A tender bloom with dawn's first colour gilt;
Yet ev'ry flow'r in mortal clime that grows,
Is here for but a time, and then does wilt.
By all I e'er held dear, I now aver,
That though a rose may wilt, yet still 'tis sweet;
I only hope a place I could secure
In fondest adoration at thy feet.
For fairness found in form and face will fail,
But that within the heart may shine undimmed;
Though nothing for youth's beauty may avail,
A heart with golden deeds may yet be rimmed.
My Juliet, in truth I do declare,
I love thee not for youthful beauty fair.
Denial is a can of peas
whose contents
should never be indulged
beyond the expiration date.
Yet there I stood,
evidence screaming reality
at my eyes, their gaze steadfast
upon the wailing baby girl
before me in her bassinet.
My mind then confidently knew
that what lay there
could have never come
from briefest self-indulgence.
Still, my heart wouldn't listen—
And rightly so.
I turned and faced
a solitary window,
which framed a cold and gray
November day
that froze as well
the unrecorded moment.
Though soft upon my parted lips
came unbidden words:
“I love you, dearest child”—
knowing all that was yet to be,
for here lay an open book
in which life would write about
a young girl’s timeless, playful mirth,
but also test her brazen dreams
and tireless hopes alike.
On life’s other end,
my mother wearies
of her endless days
and puzzles
over life prolonged well past
these ninety-seven years—
asking with familiar eyes,
undimmed by age,
the reason why,
which none can answer,
and which none tries,
and silence reigns.
Then, soon enough
both memories and questions fade,
their cycles now complete.
Mark B. Peterson, Any Poem/Any Form, December 26, 2013
It's been eons since
Life took us in diametrically different directions
Yet melancholic memories of you
Still bloom in my mind like a flower, filling me with glee
Our fleeting union, I'll forever treasure. It's strange
Grieving the loss of what might've been. Notwithstanding
The brevity of our romance, the flame ignited between us
Still remains undimmed, flickering in the wind
I miss your captivating stories about
Your upbringing in Rio De Janeiro
I instantaneously think of you every time the song
"The Girl From Ipanema", creeps into my mind
Oh, the many fun times we had! Walking arm in arm
Under the summer sun; snuggling cozily on winter nights
The sound of your laughter, your voice
Your fragrance, the twinkle in your smiling eyes
So adoring and brimming with tender love
I remember them all too well
Thoughts and dreams of you, a smoke that will never turn to ash
If I could turn back time and relive all the happy, endearing
Even the silly moments we shared, I would. Sadly, our bond
Couldn't weather every storm that came our way
Our loving companionship, though brief, I'll hold dear
In perpetuity. Thanks for the everlasting memories
We were never meant to be
I guess that's the way destiny intended it
It's been eons since we parted ways
Like rope severed under a colossal weight
Yet melancholic memories of you
Still bloom in my mind like a flower, filling me with glee
Submitted for...
Impress Me With An Old Poem(002) Poetry Contest (Winner: 7th Place)
Sponsored by Poet Destroyer A
Date submitted: 10/08/2020
Strand Special 12 Any Form,Any Theme Poetry Contest(Winner: 2nd Place)
Sponsored by Brian Strand
Date: 12/29/2019
Best free verse April 1, 2018 to July 15,2018 Poetry Contest(Winner: 3rd Place)
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Date written and posted: 07/12/2018
Best Free Verse in July 2018 Poetry Contest/Winner(1st Place)
Sponsored by: Laura Loo
Date written and posted: 07/12/2018
Wild grasses of my springtime heart unmown,
unruly, unrestrained, in silence grew.
Youth’s fierce infatuation madly blew
its untamed gales where tall, green blades had grown.
Fair birds of transient love have long since flown –
that tale’s dark thread unraveled. Segue to
the stunning, breathless moment I met you
and found the ageless love I’d never known.
As autumn yields to winter, hair recedes
brown-gray, and once-hard muscles dormant lie;
our fathomless love-light remains undimmed.
Spring’s passions redirected, naught impedes
love’s resolute commitment. You and I
adore our beautiful lawn, neatly trimmed.
Yes,he had known horizons far
And set music by some lone star--
Undimmed the longing in his eyes
For our windsong and distant skies.
I'm glad we walked a little way
Nor would I change one note today;
As it was, so it seemed planned
To bid goodbye, my sailor man.
8/27/2018
For Edward Ibeh’s Wind Chimes Contest
So I revel in being alive,
at the age of seventy four,
with no tangible boundary,
long and longer one does yearn,
for life’s garden of pure health,
my blossom, bloom, and bliss,
devoid of serious ailment,
that bristling spirit undimmed,
I still savour with such abandon,
verdant sights, scenes, sounds,
profuse vista, azure skyline,
wondrous rapids, bright streams,
tender love and human passion,
sheer late phase zest enduring,
my olden yet golden proud march,
year on year earthly nirvana
Queen in our eyes!
Goddess in our hearts.
Alleviated fears, shaped behaviors,
Built careers, educated a nation,
Sang hymnals through the moments slowly.
She learned to live and love,
Unperturbed by failure, unruffled by haste,
Rising in the midnight glory,
Unbounded by time, undimmed by hope.
She sang dirges in ceremonies,
Boxed by pain, razed with tears,
Called on God in heaven,
Pushed by problems unleashed by dreams.
To wipe our tears and mend our fails,
Charred by life’s harsh realities,
Unbroken by woes, strengthened in invocations,
Into our stubborn adolescent years,
Through hectic times and sickbed comforts.
I reminisce her brief scolding,
Refusing to go to school for no reason,
And all the exquisite wares I broke —
Can’t fathom the pain I caused her.
But she never gave up on me,
Not he, not her, not us.
Even those who laid upon her lap,
A neighborhood mum circumventing the hemisphere
With her selfless deeds.
Spreading euphoria here and there,
With little that she had, her love unrelenting,
For the ones she nurtured beneath her feet,
With a partner she adored since day one.
She smiles, and there is hope,
Of small beginnings and grand endings.
In her voice, comfort and peace,
I will forever be grateful for a mother like you.
So thank you for words uttered,
For actions and inactions,
For love unconditional,
Even in anger, even in pain.
Thank you for souls well nurtured,
The spanks so brusque, the food, the gifts,
Thank you for care unending,
May God bless you always.
Thank you for a life well lived;
In your footsteps we follow suit.
I tell myself I do it for the birds.
They gather together
around flameless fires
feeding on warmth’s memory,
chattering amid the blowing leaves,
feathers puffed against the cold.
Their beauty undimmed by the
stark dark and light of barrenness
their songs no less beautiful
in the echoless emptiness,
their presence – undiminished.
Quietly, I leave a gift,
mixed seed to welcome all
sustenance to those who share
a loneliness in winter,
a scarcity of caring
the fading heat of flameless fires.
I tell myself I do it for the birds.
10/18/2015
submitted to – For the Birds – poetry contest
sponsor – Anthony Slausen
for her sister's one hundredth birthday
a new sweater purchase from a store blocks away
a goal coveted, though for the aged, no such thing
as risk-free walking
she believes
self help springs from iron determination
anchored by her walker,
she trudges,
dismissable pain from battered knees
that grind in bone shrapnel
sapped by the demands of her quest,
her return walk of measured step affliction,
fatigue eroding
"Should I call police to usher me home?"
her thoughts like fabric fraying
in the ruling wreckage of movement, willfully overcome
she wraps her sister's white sweater that
ribbons their legitimacy
that hold them together
curbing minds drifting
daily quest to fight fading
two sisters, resilient blooms
to rage at pulls to brokenness
to slip what traps the aged
their undimmed merit in the slow lane
hardy hearts still beating
pivoting
in life flourishing love
that holds its footing in this world's
detachment
Poem composed: October 3/21
you ...
were joy
gentle, sweet -
everything beautiful and mild
you devoured my
failings and frailties with soft silence
transformed them to
a tender, trembling music that
warmed my marrow ...
never a complaint or condition
naught but a gaze that
held love, untainted and undimmed,
acceptance, pure, and adoration
so assuredly undeserved ...
to be the silvery
stars in your vault -
the shimmer in your fiery eye -
was a blessing, unbound and precious ...
I was your WORLD,
and for as long as this fatuous
old fool can yet draw
breath, there is nothing
I am, have been, or could be ...
that compares. <3
Oh, dandelion
Your blossom of gold endures
Warmth to a cold day
The strength of sunlight
Is sometimes diminished by
Grey clouds that drape Earth...
With a soiled blanket
Of piercing melancholy
Yet you glow, undimmed
Would you make my wish
come true after I blow you...
to the passing breeze?
Date written and posted: 04/15/2019
Bedeviled by the world so brutal
He still bring – off with a grin
Baseless towards one among the nation
Still the only one to conform every time of year -
Once in a blue moon
One will surely inquire
How he find himself one among the elite group.
Lost in the woods to construe the pragmatism of nature
Yet she finagle to retrace a new ménage
Migrated from a distanced island
The Macaw can flee to a new world.
Flocked by same species and aggressed by foes
Over again a fresh habitation
One will surely inquire
Indolence if ever existed.
An aeon latter the brightest star even bears away
The brightness of a solarday
The duskiness undimmed environ is then
Oppugned by thous admiring oculi
In a moment of agitation
Back to same state
One will surely remember
The brightest ring god has ever created.
Rare to our naked eyes
One-time she dupes and one-time she comes along
A glimpse of it in the morning and in the evening
Hesperus usually appears at sunset in the western sky.
Viewed by few, yet known to all
Later annotates
And the former waits for the next eventide.
Some are sparks
Some are the sparks from a Parliament bonfire,
That fly ever upwards to spin and whirl
amongst the stars and then are extinguished,
falling as a fleck of ash to lie amongst many
in a grey layer, undistinguished one from the other.
And there are a few, so very few, whose spark
Reaches the dark sky and lives amongst the
Heavenly stars that shine over centuries,
Remaining undimmed, lighting our way through
Life and love, and damnation of our souls.
So the Bard of Avon shines above, even four centuries
beyond his bones mouldering in some riverside grave,
Honoured in the exhilaration of performance,
In the strut and fret of hours upon a million stages,
In the warmth that spreads in the breast with his words.
Words. His gift to humankind. Resonances in the
Fabric of minds, harmonies with our daily conversations,
He speaks to our souls, to the innermost being,
Our core, our culture, our language, and to the
World, to all of humanity, in every place.
He speaks to me and I lay myself at his feet,
In awe at his facility and originality, magician
Of words; and I strive to create as he
Might have done, knowing that I am but a
Nervous acolyte to his command.
There is this insistent command from within
To speak as he did, to create the elegant structure
Of rhythm and word; to see the world through
Eyes that comprehend the human condition,
And reflect it to those uncomprehending.
I strive to follow his path, but am not dismayed
When my words do not follow his lead.
I am not so vain as to imagine I am his heir,
Yet I would wish his ghost visit me, and lay
Upon his hands, that I may speak with his voice.